


Forms of Imitation

by cinnabongene



Category: Dorian Gray (2009), Dorian Gray - All Media Types, The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Basil and Sibyl friendship fic, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabongene/pseuds/cinnabongene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Basil Hallward and Sibyl Vane had met that night after Romeo and Juliet? A cute, fluffy Basil and Sibyl friendship fic where no one is sad (for very long) and no one dies. Written for a fellow Oscar Wilde fan on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Come, Basil, let us go,” Lord Henry insisted, about to tug the man by his shirt sleeve. But the painter could not bring himself to leave Dorian so distraught alone at the theater. 

“No, I wish to stay here and see the play through with Dorian.” 

Having done enough protesting for one night, Dorian did not argue and instead kept his tear-streaked face to the wall. 

“Suit yourselves. I do not see how you can stand to subject yourselves to one more second of this horrible acting,” muttered Lord Henry. “I assure you both, witnessing this play will age you horribly.” Then, straightening his coat and replacing his hat atop his head, he made his escape from the theater.

Alone with the sobbing young man, Basil Hallward was at a loss. As much as he wanted to comfort the boy, he also did not want to incur his wrath. “I’m sure there must be some reason for her poor performance, Dorian,” he began tentatively. “We must talk with her after the show. Perhaps she can explain. Even if not, I would still like to meet her. Acting skills are not all that matter in a wife. In fact, I’m sure Harry would tell you that it is best to have a wife who is a poor actress.” 

Dorian wiped the tears from his eyes and turned back around to face the painter. “Yes, I do believe I will talk to her after the play. You should have to come with me though. I’d hate to think of what I might say if I have to face her alone,” he admitted. 

“Come, let us sit and try to enjoy the rest of the play,” said Basil, beckoning him back to their seats. 

Dorian nodded and took up the seat next to Basil. “She is so exquisite in her death scene. I have never seen anyone die with such grace. Oh if only you could have been here to see her when she was truly living her art!” 

“I’m sure I can imagine,” said Hallward, the end of his sentence trailing off into a whisper as the theater grew dark and the next act began. 

Once the play was over, a few slow, likely sarcastic obligatory claps resounded through the theater. Only Basil applauded the artists’ efforts with any sincerity. It was not their fault if they did not possess the natural talent or beauty required for acting; they deserved credit for putting in the effort. 

As soon as the curtain had closed, Dorian had already begun making his way backstage and Basil had to hurry to keep up. “Dorian!” he cried, catching the lad’s arm. “Please, do not be too hard on her. She’s practically still a child!” 

“And I’ve seen children act with more finesse than she did tonight,” said Dorian. “Nevertheless, I will give her a chance to explain herself if you insist it would be for the best.” 

“I do,” Basil reaffirmed as they walked backstage and found Sibyl waiting for them with the most charmingly nefarious grin on her rose-white face. “Oh Dorian! How badly I acted tonight!” she cried joyfully. 

“Horribly!” Dorian agreed. “It was dreadful!” The feeling of Basil’s disapproving gaze burning in the back of his head made his tirade quickly come to an end. “Tell me, Sibyl, what is wrong? Are you ill?”

The girl let out a laugh like bluebells. “Of course not! You should have understood! But you understand now, don’t you?”

“Understand what?”

“Why I acted so badly tonight! Why I shall never act well again!” Seeing the confusion apparent in both Dorian and his friend’s eyes, Sibyl sighed and decided it would be best to explain herself. “Dorian, before I met you, acting was the only reality I knew. The love of Juliet for Romeo was the only love I knew. But now that I know true love, true beauty, true happiness, and I could see through the sham! The words I speak in the play are nothing compared to the words I wish to speak to you! It is all empty, meaningless compared to what the real world has to offer me!” 

Dorian shook his head and grew pale. “No… you…” 

Basil put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Dorian, I believe Ms. Vane has just paid you a compliment. Let us not take it the wrong way.” 

“Oh yes, but of course it is a compliment! It is the greatest compliment I could ever give! Only you could free me from the false reality that is acting, Dorian!” Sibyl cried. 

Dorian nodded and tried to let it sink in. Sibyl turned to Basil, deciding she must owe him a thank you for keeping Dorian calm. “I do not believe we have met,” she told him.

“Ah, yes, forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Basil Hallward.” 

“Ah, yes, the painter! Dorian has told me all about you and how beautifully you paint! You must show me sometime. I have always so loved to look at art!” 

“I would be more than happy to show you my paintings sometime. Perhaps one day soon you and Dorian can come over for tea.” 

“I believe I would like that very much,” Sibyl smiled. “Can we, Dorian?” 

“Can we what?” asked the lad, having been lost in his thoughts.

“Go and see Mr. Hallward’s paintings.” 

“Oh, yes I do not see why not. He painted a lovely portrait of me. I should have to let you see it sometime,” he murmured, still refusing to meet the gazes of either his friend or his fiancée. 

“Perhaps I should go and leave you two to talk?” asked Basil, beginning to feel he was unwelcome. 

“Oh, no, please stay!” insisted Sibyl. “I’ve never seen Dorian like this before. I haven’t any idea how to act around him. You must stay and tell me more about these paintings of yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, after much thought, Dorian had decided to keep Sibyl around a little longer. Perhaps Basil was right. Perhaps it would have been cruel and shallow of him to call of the engagement. On the day that the happy, young couple decided to pay the painter a visit, Lord Henry had already made himself quite at home on Basil’s couch. Upon seeing Dorian and his beautiful bride-to-be enter the room, he hefted himself up to his feet to greet them with a wide grin. 

“Dorian! And Miss Vane! I have not had the pleasure to introduce myself before. I am Lord Henry Wotton,” he said, bending down to kiss Sibyl’s delicate, petal-like hand, earning him a glare from Dorian and a titter of laughter from Sibyl. “Dorian has told me only wonderful things about you. However, I must advise you to stay away from the profession of acting. Bad acting is unbecoming to a face as lovely as yours.”

“Harry!” Basil chided. 

“Oh no, it’s quite alright, Mr. Hallward. I know full well how horribly I acted that night. And Lord Wotton, I can assure you, I am quite done with acting. Why should I want to pretend to be in love when I am in real life?” 

“Please, call me Harry,” he told the girl, then turning back to Dorian, “She is perfectly charming, Dorian. I now see why you have chosen to marry her, and I approve wholeheartedly.” 

As Dorian and Henry talked, Sibyl’s eyes wandered about Basil’s house, taking in the beautiful pieces of art placed with perfect taste and harmony about the walls. “Is this one of your paintings?” she asked, stepping closer to a beautiful landscape. The realism was so inescapable that it almost seemed as if it were a window looking out towards to countryside, not simply paint on canvas. 

“It is. I painted it just a few months ago,” he said. 

“It is exquisite!” she exclaimed, never taking her eyes off of the portrait. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful, yet so realistic at the same time…” 

“If you would like, I could show you my studio. I have many more paintings in there,” offered Basil. 

“Oh yes, please!” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Basil’s mouth despite himself. It was not every day that he found someone so enthusiastic towards his art. Even Dorian seemed to have become desensitized to the beauty of his paintings since he had met Sibyl. “Dorian, Harry, I would like to take Ms. Vane to see my studio, would you like to come with?” 

“You go along. Dorian and I will stay here; I have a story to tell him that I don’t think either of you would much like hearing,” Lord Henry smirked. 

Basil shook his head with a derisive sigh and led the way his studio. 

“Should I not have gone with her?” Dorian asked Harry. 

The older man scoffed and flung himself back down on the sofa. “Dorian, I can assure you, Basil Hallward stealing your fiancée is the last thing you need worry about. Now about that story I wanted to tell you. Last night at the club I met the most horrendous looking woman…” 

Back in Basil Hallward’s studio Sibyl marveled at the art all around her. “This is all so beautiful, Mr. Hallward,” she murmured, fearing that speaking any louder would disturb the serenity of all the beautifully painted flowers surrounding them. “These should be in a museum!” 

“Please, call me Basil,” the painter insisted. “And really, they’re nothing. Most of these aren’t my best work. Feel free to look around.” 

“What’s it like to be able to paint like this?” she asked. “I tried to draw a rose once. It turned out looking more like a horribly deformed hedgehog.” 

“I’m sure you’re just being too hard on yourself,” said Basil. “Anyone can learn to draw and paint with practice. As for what it’s like, I don’t think about it too much. I just let the art flow out through my brush. Often times I don’t even know what I’m going to paint until I’ve already painted it.” 

“That must be wonderful,” said Sibyl, gently looking through stacks and piles of Basil’s artwork. “Acting used to feel like that to me. I truly felt to me as if I was the characters I played. But ever since I met Dorian… What are all these?” she asked. 

Basil looked up and immediately a mortified blush took over his face. Sibyl had found his collection of portraits of Dorian. Fearing that a woman who was very familiar with being in love with Dorian Gray would easily be able to recognize the sentiment elsewhere, he rushed over to her side, unsure of what he planned to do when he got there. 

Sibyl studied each one of the paintings carefully, admiring the lines of her love’s face, so beautifully captured in Basil’s portraits. “Are these all portraits of Dorian?” she asked, for even the men in the dress of ancient times still bore her fiancé’s unmistakable face. 

“…Yes,” he admitted. 

“He told me you had painted a portrait of him, but I didn’t know he had modeled for you so often.” 

“He has not… most of these are done from memory—subconscious memory even. Like I said, I often don’t know what I’m going to paint until I’ve already painted it. And more often than not, it turns out to be Dorian.” 

“I can see why,” said Sibyl. “His face was made to be painted, and your portraits do him such justice, Basil.” She looked up from the paintings and smiled at him. A genuine smile, much to the surprise of the painter. Her eyes held no suspicion, jealously, or disgust, only appreciation, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a touch of sympathy. 

Basil cleared his throat and tried to keep the blush out of his cheeks. “You say meeting Dorian changed your art. Well, as you can probably see, it changed my art as well. Before I met Dorian, yes I liked painting, but I never felt there was anything special about my art. I simply painted because it was something others told me I was skilled at. I was starting to lose my interest; I no longer had any inspiration. However, after I met Dorian, he inspired me to paint anew. He gave me a completely new way of looking at art, a new style, a new way to see beauty in what is right in front of us, all around us! A perfect example of the beauty that can exist in the human form completely unaided by the imagination. Ever since I began painting him, I have hardly been able to paint anything else. And even when I do find the motivation to paint something other than him, he is always present in my art now. Like that landscape you were so fond of, he was there when I painted it. The same beauty in the lines of his face is there, in the lines of the rolling hillsides… I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I shouldn’t be telling you all this anyways.” Running a nervous hand through his hair, he sunk down onto the old, paint splattered couch. 

“No, no it’s quite all right,” Sibyl assured him. “I find it quite fascinating that while Dorian helped us both see the beauty that exists in reality, it saved your art, but it destroyed mine.” 

The way Sibyl’s voice dropped as if she were talking about a dead relative made Basil’s heart sink into his stomach. “It doesn’t have to be destroyed,” he replied. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, joining him on the couch. “You saw how horribly I acted.”

“Well, you could look at it the way I do and let Dorian inspire you to be better instead of worse.” 

“I guess I never really thought about it that way, said Sibyl. “I thought that now that I know real love, I could never portray fake love again; however, maybe now that I know what love feels like I can play it better! Instead of pretending to be in love when I play Juliet, I can just pretend that the man playing Romeo is Dorian and feel the love for real! Oh thank you, Basil, perhaps I can still be an actress after all!” 

“I’m glad I could help you discover your art again. There’s nothing more tragic than losing that,” said Basil.

Sibyl nodded in agreement and turned her attention back to the portraits. “I wonder, Basil, if you would ever be willing to paint a portrait of me?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to have one done…”

“Yes, I’m sure we could arrange that,” the painter smiled. He turned to face the young woman head on, taking in the lines of her form and the way the sunlight streaming through the window bounced off her fair skin and blonde hair. “In fact…” He quickly got up and fetched his sketchbook and a pencil. “We could start right now.” 

Sibyl giggled and brushed her hair out of her face self-consciously. “Yes, I believe I would like that.”


End file.
